The United Nations Headquarters has an odd stillness in the early morning. As I walked past rows of flags into the Assembly Hall for the International Criminal Court’s Assembly of States Parties, I felt the silence crack under the weight of expectation. This July session was not routine. States had reconvened for a rare special meeting to confront one of the Court’s oldest frustrations: its limited jurisdiction over the crime of aggression.
I was there with Human Rights Watch’s International Justice team. Unlike states, HRW does not get to vote or take the floor. Our role is more subtle: watching from the gallery, analyzing every intervention, and then moving into smaller spaces such as side meetings with officials and informal exchanges in hallways, to explain HRW’s perspective and press states toward reform. In this case, our goal was to push for an amendment that would close the gaps around the crime of aggression, aligning it with the other core crimes the Court prosecutes.
From my seat in the chamber, what struck me was the dissonance between principle and power. Many states emphasized the moral necessity of ensuring that unlawful wars could be prosecuted, while others stressed consensus and procedure in ways that seemed designed to delay. What became clear to me was that international law is not just a body of texts; it is a living negotiation shaped by political calculations as much as by principle.
For me, this session was a rare window into how HRW operates within that reality. Throughout the summer, much of my work had involved researching universal jurisdiction trials, drafting strategy documents, and following developments in accountability mechanisms. The ASP brought that research into sharper relief. I could see how HRW uses these materials not only to document progress but also to influence decision-makers in real time. I also saw the limits: no matter how strong our arguments, change ultimately depends on the willingness of states to take political risks.
The session ended without consensus on reform, and in that sense it was a disappointment. But for me, it reverberated the core lesson of my internship: that international justice is never automatic. It requires constant advocacy, even in the face of setbacks, to keep the space for principle alive. Watching my colleagues insist on that persistence, reminding states that victims’ rights cannot be postponed indefinitely, was as instructive as anything I read in a statute or judgment.
When I left the UN that evening, the city was loud again; sirens, traffic, fragments of a protest echoing from First Avenue. The silence of the chamber had lifted, but the questions lingered: What does it mean to fight for a court that cannot always deliver? And what does it mean, still, to insist that it can? Working with HRW’s International Justice team this summer taught me that the answers lie less in quick victories than in returning, again and again, to the rooms where justice falters.